The Portrait
by Lozenge Magus
Summary: I love art. In fact, I can say that I understand it way more than others could. Or, at least, that's what I think. Well, I, art student, Senri Shiki, fell in love with a painting during a college field trip to the art museum and guess who I met with while I was alone? That's for you to find out.


**Hey guys, this is user 5400151, tentatively known as Lozenge Magus, presenting my 3rd story which mainly focuses on the pairing 'Kaname X Shiki'. This is a request from a reviewer of mine so I took the challenge. :D I like to try new things so wish me luck on this.**

**Please note that this is an Alternate Universe basically known as A.U. and that this is again in first person point of view.**

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"In this painting, it goes to show that..." Our class instructor's words trailed inside one of my ears and out of the other. I stood there behind the crowd of students with my eyes fixated on something else other than what he was doing. We were in the art museum, and I am a freshman at my college. I've taken a course which corresponds to the field of arts and crafts. I don't know what it's called but it's about art. That explains why we are in the art museum, don't you think? Anyways, my name is Senri Shiki, 19 years old. No, let's make that '19 years young'.

"Here, this is another portrait that..." Almost every word our C.I. had been saying were mere buzzing sounds of a bee to me all throughout the tour. I mean, everything he said might have convinced everyone in my class save for me. Clearly, I could understand the paintings more. I could clearly see the reason why it was made and what kind of expressions or emotions are displayed by how it was painted. It's almost like I'm saying that our C.I. in arts is not worthy of being called such, but I'm not saying it. I'm just thinking it. Very clever no?

It had only been half an hour into the discussion like field trip and I couldn't take it any longer. I parted myself from the group in search for my own learning. I could manage. It wasn't that hard anyway. Roaming around the huge museum is better than listening to our C.I.'s meaningless chatters. No one might even know that I'm gone. I mean, I was more of a ghost in class since no one really sees me except for the instructors who just so happen to see my name on the list of people present. Nope, I have no friends. Well, there is someone who got acquainted with me because he was the SSG president but all in all, I was lonely. It's not that I hated it. I was just.. used to it. I knew that they would do a roll call after the small tour so I decided that I would go back in the nick of time just for that. I didn't want to get scolded.

As I let my feet take me to whatever part of the place, I stopped in my tracks as I saw one particular painting down a secluded hall. It was... unfamiliar to me. It was unlike the other well known ones. It had more of a pull to it. Well, it is pulling me to it, attracting me so much as to walk briskly across the room which spaces are keeping that painting away from me.

The painting was huge. Well, it was around a squared meter in area. Oh, how do I describe it? I'm not one who is good with math. Let's just say it was like a giant square with a picture in it. Yeah, that makes more sense. My eyes glinted as I traced every detail with only my eyes. Well, the sign beside it that says 'please don't touch' means something doesn't it?

I could swear that time froze when I stared into the eyes of the man in the painting. Yes, the painting was of a man, a man engulfed in the blue oceanic like depths of water. He didn't look like he was drowning from it though. No, it more likely looked to me that he was drowning in sadness. I could tell. The small illumination in the background showed me that it was from what is supposed to be moonlight that shone upon where the man was at. His eye brows weren't knitted together because he needed air. There were bubbles in the background and I could swear again (sorry for swearing a lot) that I saw tears at the corner of his eyes. Yep, it was sadness alright... not from being at the brink of dying though.

There was like a story behind this painting. I mean, I don't know whether this man was real and that he modeled for the painter or if the said painter just imagined this and made his hands work like it was nothing so hard. I stood there thinking of the possibilities. I mean, the water was the basic question. There was no way the painter could have had someone model underwater, not moving, as he painted. That was nearly impossible to do. No, scratch that. It was impossible. Just imagine it. Could a person stay in the water long enough, without moving, looking like that, and not breathing for the painter to finish his or her work? No. I don't think so.

Just trying to figure out how this painting was made was driving me insane. But, I was sure of one thing. I respect the person who made this, like hell I do. It was a few moments later did I notice that someone had made their place just a few feet away beside me. The person's voice had snapped me back into the real world where I am supposed to be in, and not in my freaking mind.

"It's a beautiful painting, isn't it?" My eyes were stuck on the eyes that were the painting's. The stranger's voice wasn't that of an old man, but someone of my age. I could tell that it wasn't any of my classmates since out of the corner of my eyes I could see a form which was casually dressed and was of a slightly taller stature than me. I was the tallest in our class so I knew.

"Yes, it is." I simply say, still not turning my head. I could care less about the stranger since my eyes were fixated on how captivating the painting was. I know that it may seem redundant but who cares?! I am a college student taking the course of arts, 19 years young, and I can freaking understand every kind of art out there in the world through my own perspective. Oh, and by the way, if I seem really hectic through how I describe my thoughts and field of vision, that is completely opposite to what I really look like on the outside. To make a long story short, let's just say that whenever I am alone, my feelings come out at plain sight, but when someone's near me or if I'm somewhere with someone I find familiar, then I'm just as poker faced as a serious looking sculpture. "I wonder who painted this. I don't see any signature or name on the painting."

"The painter didn't want to be known even after his death." This statement piqued my interest. Does this stranger know who the painter is? What does he mean 'didn't want to be known even after his death'? Does that mean.. the painter who I wanted to meet so badly was already dead? Bummer.

"That's sad. I had so many questions I wanted to ask him. However, might I ask how do you know that the painter didn't want to be known even after his death when obviously no one should even know that?" It really did catch my interest, but still, I wasn't looking at the stranger. My eyes were on the painting but my ears were on him.

"Well, that's because I _am_ the painter." My eyes widened at this. No, it wasn't possible right? This stranger has got to be kidding me. There was no way, and I mean NO WAY a ghost could be talking to me right now. Hey, I was skeptical.

"Pfft. Don't joke with me. You said so yourself that the painter was already dead. You can't be the painter." I said, turning my head to finally look at the man. My eyes were greeted by a tall figure, as I've said earlier, who had chocolate brown hair which reached just above his shoulders, a man who was dressed casually. I could only see the side of his face since he was in a side-view position. I couldn't see his eyes, guessing that the slight fringe covered the one on the side where I was.

"You were the first one to ever know what my painting really does portray." He ignored what I just said and began talking about something else. But wait, I only thought of what the painting portrayed. I never said anything out loud. "For that to happen, I'm guessing that it means something." He continued. "You're wondering what is the story behind how this painting was made, aren't you?" Okay, now he was really freaking me out. Again, I did not say thoughts out loud. So, how does this stranger know that?

"Woah, woah, woah. Stop right there. I have no idea how you know what I was thinking but I think you're crazy." I can be blunt. Oh, hell I could be blunt when I am close to getting the hell scared out of me. I took a quick step back when he turned to face me, and there I stood, frozen in place once I saw his eyes.

"I may have died early, but I was never crazy." Those eyes... they were the same as the painting's. They were eyes that showed sadness and sorrow. There were tears that brimmed at the corners of his eyes. Their eyes were too similar.

"What the-" I wasn't able to react soon enough because one moment, I was staring into the eyes that displayed very strong emotions, and the next moment, I was staring into thin air. What was that just now? Did that really just happen?

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**This is a rather short story no? Hey, tell me if you want me to continue it alright? You guys have to convince me to continue it or I really won't. I'm kidding. I hope you guys enjoyed this, especially .1 :D Thanks for making me try new things.**

**I must warn you though that, just like Mi-chan, I too can't stick to one story and that's why I will continue to make new ones just like hers. Ideas are welcome as long as it is yaoi (sorry to those hetero fans) and within the parameter of Vampire Knight only. I'm solely dedicated to it.**

**Please review, fave, or follow to convince me to continue. Haha, again, that was a joke. Of course I'll update when I get the time. :D**

**Au revoir~!**


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